Rocky Road to Dublin
by lemmesay
Summary: CRISSCOLFER! July 3rd is not just Franz Kafka's birthday any more. This fic is for Lynne who requested the aftermath of The Dublin Kiss. Exactly one year later. Big thanks to Kat for beta!


When he was a high-schooler in Clovis, California, Chris never liked sleeping all that much. First and foremost, it took time away from writing, practicing scales, taking over the world and whatnot. He also wasn't too keen on the idea of spending half the night sleepwalking in and out of the house and then waking up even more exhausted than before going to bed.

He couldn't remember what had made him fall back in love with the idea of healthy sleep habits and made him take his first nap (although it might have been an episode of Oprah), but he was sure it was around that time he started on Glee and his daily regime turned upside down and inside out. Walking around the set with dark circles under his eyes wasn't exactly kosher, so he quickly learnt to shut himself in his trailer in order to blissfully doze off on his makeshift bed for half an hour between his calls. And his life as a poster-boy for gay kids all over the world became _that_much more bearable.

That was of course, until one Darren Criss joined the cast and the precious naps were suddenly snatched from Chris's life.

Darren was a wide-eyed ball of energy that constantly bounced off the walls, people and sets, never stopping, always shooting blinding smiles and weird facial expressions all around himself. Chris had no real basis for this hypothesis, but he'd been suspecting for some time that Darren didn't sleep _at all_.

Darren also didn't know how accustomed Chris had gotten to his naps and that he wasn't at all partial to Darren barging into their shared trailer in a middle of one, tackling him on the bed and then proceeding to sprawl himself across him like a starfish.

Darren didn't watch Oprah and therefore had no idea how desperately important slow-wave sleep was to human's health.

* * *

_"You had me at "Emmy"."_

_The screams of the audience grew deafening as Darren suddenly grabbed Chris's face and pulled him in for a kiss. It was like a time bomb suddenly going off inside his head. Everything went still and silent for a moment and the only thing he could hear was the quickened thumping of his heart._

_Darren's pupils were blown wide, his eyelashes dragging across his sweaty cheeks as he blinked, and his lips were kissed shiny and swollen. Chris's knees almost buckled under him when a pink tongue darted out to lick them. He forced his eyes off Darren's face and looked around. His mouth went dry. There were hundreds of people watching them, gasping and screaming, waving their hands and jumping on the top of their seats._

_"They do like it when we kiss," chuckled Darren, his thumb brushing over Chris's cheekbone. "Don't_

_youlike it when we kiss?" He raised his eyebrows, smiling. "Do you guys want another kiss?!" He shouted and the audience went completely mad, some of the girls with 'K+B' scribbled over their foreheads in lipstick bursting into tears._

_"I think they want us to do it again."_

_Apparently, Darren wasn't about to wait for Chris's response, as he lunged immediately forward, capturing Chris's mouth once again and tangling his fingers in his hair, pressing their chests together. Chris's brain went numb. The moment their lips re-connected, everything else shut down and he kissed back like his life depended on it, deepening the kiss when Darren made a growling sound deep in his throat. His hands were sliding up and down Darren's back, one of Darren's knees kept rubbing against his leg, and the whooping and whistling of the audience in the background felt like fireworks._

* * *

Chris woke up with a start, sitting up straight on his bed, hyperventilating. (They say that only happens in the movies. They lie.) It wasn't the first time he had dreamt about Darren _like that _and he was quite sure it wouldn't be the last time either, because that curly haired gremlin was all over him all the time. (That is, if he wasn't currently all over Chord. But then, Chord had a serious girlfriend and wasn't exactly keen on Darren lurking around them during their regular 'game of dominos'.) Darren was just this ever-lasting presence in Chris's life that Chris was incapable of getting rid of. And sometimes he didn't want to. Even if those dreams kept getting borderline sexual and it was getting really hard to look Darren in the eye for embarrassingly long periods of time.

Chris once tried telling Lea about it, but she reacted completely opposite to what he'd expected when she flat out refused to talk about it because 'it was like listening to her parents having sex'. Although, she did tell him to 'hit that anyway', so her reservations couldn't have been _that_insurmountable.

He didn't like it when he dreamt about "The Dublin Kiss", as the fans had dubbed it, capitals and all, it last summer. It had simply been an intense moment then, without all the sexual tension his brain seemed to be so fond of adding to it. It had been a bizarre moment as well, because for just those few seconds, and those few seconds only, Chris fell out of his character, and found it quite difficult to dive back into Kurt after Darren so had profoundly explored his mouth with his tongue.

And, good lord. What a _tongue_.

He groaned, and pulled the covers over his head when somebody started furiously banging on his front door. And oh, he only just realised that the banging had been going on for quite a while.

Chris slid off the bed, crushing Brian the cat in process, who raised his head and opened his sleepy eyes only to give him a bitchy stare that was clearly saying "Was this _really _necessary, Colfer?" And then went back to sleep with a yawn. Chris chuckled at his demeanour, shimmied into a pair of old jeans he found on the floor and trotted downstairs.

"What?" he barked out as soon as he opened the door, blinking in surprise when he saw Darren.

Darren jumped a little, almost dropping the armful of grocery bags he was holding. He made a quick recovery, though, inviting himself in and dropping them on Chris's kitchen isle.

"Maidin mhaith, Christopher!" he sang, leaning against the wall with a wide smile. He was wearing an atrocious lime green cardigan that almost blinded Chris (and why was it legal to make sweaters in that colour again), black pants with suspenders, and he had a clover done on his cheek in green paint.

"What the hell happened to you and why are you speaking alien?" Chris snorted, eyeing the bags suspiciously. He wasn't sure he wanted to know what was inside.

Darren spread out his arms and looked at Chris excitedly.

"It's July 3rd!"

Chris raised his eyebrows.

"So?"

Darren's features visibly fell and his mouth tightened into a pout.

"You don't know what the July 3rd is the anniversary of?"

Chris took a deep breath, rummaging through his brain in a half-assed attempt to humour Darren.

"The Battle of Gettysburg?"

Darren shook his head, and Jesus Christ, was he wearing a bell on his neck?

"Franz Kafka's birthday?" Chris tried again.

Darren rolled his eyes.

"I was speaking Gaelic. It's Irish Night!" he exclaimed, spreading out his arms again.

"I thought that was what St. Patrick's Day was for," Chris answered dryly.

On the other hand, he shouldn't have been surprised as Darren was one of those people with a list of international obscure holidays on his fridge who religiously celebrated Towel Day, Talk Like a Pirate Day and even Squirrel Appreciation Day. Did they really need two Irish holidays, though?

Darren's smile wasn't disappearing.

"It's our anniversary, Chris. I brought potatoes, cabbage, apple juice and Finian's Rainbow. _And_we're going for drinks later. Also, you'll need this." Darren placed a green bowler hat on Chris's head, purposely ignoring Chris's growl when it sunk so low down his forehead he couldn't see.

"I think I overestimated the size of your head."

"I choose to believe there is a compliment somewhere in there," Chris commented, throwing the hat away. "I have a question, though. Do you realise you've barged in and interrupted my afternoon nap, yet again," he sighed, inwardly giving in, "only to have me tell you that you're taking this method acting thing a tad too far? Also, our anniversary is on the 15th of March, which is, and I'm basing this on the fact that my nap didn't last for ten months, most definitely not today."

Darren patted his shoulder.

"That's Kurt and Blaine, Chris. Don't confuse actors with their characters if you don't like the fans doing it." He yelped when Chris poked him in the stomach. "Hey, stop the violence. I was talking about us. Last summer. Dublin. My lips hot on yours," Darren paused to waggle his eyebrows. "Ringing any bells?"

Chris laughed. "You're not serious. _That _is our anniversary?"

"It sure is!" Darren smiled again, flashing him all of his teeth. "We shared a special moment. And also, I made you break character and therefore won the game. You're my minion for the rest of your life, so you have to do what I tell you." Then he took most of the bags from the counter and made a run for the living room, shouting over his shoulder. "Grab the baguettes, please. And don't be surprised if they'd turned into bread crumps, Joey and I were lightsabering with them earlier today.

"Chris Colfer will never be anybody's minion. You're the minion. You're already mini-sized so you're half way there, pun intended!" Chris shot back, scrambling his hands over his face. He suppressed a yawn and opened his fridge to dig out a six-pack of Diet Coke he had stashed there in case of emergency.

Because it was, apparently, going to be a long night.

* * *

"I thought baguettes were French."

They lay sprawled on Chris's couch back to back, supporting each other's weight, incredibly full (in Darren's case) and incredibly sleepy (Chris's case), watching Finian's Rainbow, each munching on a baguette (and really, who needed popcorn when you had penis-shaped baked goods).

Darren slowly unpeeled his eyes from the TV and dropped his head on Chris's shoulder to look him in the face.

"They are. I just ran out of ideas. I'm seriously bad at grocery shopping, let alone country-specific grocery shopping. If it makes you feel any better, though, there are approximately 9,000 French people living in Ireland."

Chris raised his eyebrows, taking a bite. "How do you know that?" he mumbled. "I'd never peg you for a Random Facts kind of guy."

"That's because I'm not. I looked it up on my phone when I got stuck at a red light on my way here. I know what makes you tick, Colfer." Darren raised his carton of juice in a toast, taking a celebratory sip. "God, I'm good."

Chris laughed half-heartedly, shifting his attention back to the screen.

He was considering taking a secret nap, since Darren couldn't actually see him, but the muscles in Darren's back were shifting all the time, like they didn't like being relaxed for too long, and it drove Chris crazy. Sometimes he wondered if Darren wasn't literally _made_of puppies. Like in Power Rangers, when all of the Zords morphed in a Megazord, only with baby dogs.

Chris chuckled as the plot of the movie began to unfold, with the characters tap dancing in the field.

"This movie has got some serious issues," he paused. "I kind of love it."

Darren reached back to smack him lightly on the back of his head.

"What are you talking about! It's a classic; beautiful and magical! Plus, there's a leprechaun," he added, watching the almost seventy years old Fred Astaire dance his heart out. "How fucking awesome is Fred Astaire, though? Look at him. He's seventy and way better than Cory."

"Everybody and your grandmother is better than Cory," Chris snorted.

Darren reached for the remote and turned the movie off, shifting back on the couch, making Chris lose his balance and fall head-first in his lap. Darren leaned down so their faces were inches away. Chris swallowed. There was a beat, and Chris could swear Darren's eyes went serious for a moment, darkening as they shifted to stare at his mouth. Chris's brain went immediately back to Dublin, which was silly, because he and Darren had shared a handful of kisses since then, as Kurt and Blaine. None of them were real, though. None of them were _Darren and Chris_, none of them made his stomach flip-flop like crazy.

"I'll have you know my nana has some serious dance moves," whispered Darren suddenly, sneaking his hands down Chris's sides and tickling him. Chris squealed, kicking his feet, and just like that, the tension was gone.

They sat back up, both flushed and still giggling, Darren reaching for his apple juice to finish it off, his other arm hooking around Chris's neck, fingertips brushing against his collar bone.

Chris supressed a shiver, damning his sensitive neck to hell and back.

"Now, we could either do each other's nails, green or rainbow, that's your choice, or it's time for the drinks," offered Darren, inspecting his own nails, which were currently a chipped bright orange colour. His other hand wasn't stopping caressing Chris's neck, though, and Chris suspected he wasn't even aware of that fact. Chris, on the other hand, was hyper-aware of that fact and it was turning his brain into mashed potatoes.

"I vote for drinks," he rattled off, scrambling off the couch, determined to make a run for his bathroom to splash some icy cold water on his face, and maybe some other body parts.

* * *

It took them another hour to actually leave the house, since they couldn't stop bickering about appropriate clothing.

("You should put this shirt on."

"But that's yesterday's shirt."

"So? It's green. You need to wear it for drinks."

"You're delusional. I've been wearing this shirt the whole weekend. I'm not putting it on for an outing!"

"It's not like you're going to pick up guys tonight."

"Well not with you in that cardigan as my wingman, that's for sure."

"Don't insult my cardigan. I was originally going to wear nothing but Irish flags today."

"Well, I guess I should be thankful for small mercies. I'm still not wearing a dirty shirt, though."

"But it's not dirty! There's nothing wrong with wearing yesterday's shirt. I can wear one for _weeks_. Oh and Donald Duck; he always wears the same shirt and he's doing just fine."

"That's because you're a slob. And Donald Duck is a comic book character. Also, he's in the Navy."

"Well, nobody's perfect."

"Hey! Stop trying to take my shirt off! I said I'm not wearing that!

"Oh, just lie back and think of Ireland, Christopher; dammit…" )

They arrived in The Cat & Fiddle, which was the local Irish pub, shortly after eight. The place was already packed and the air was full of traditional Irish music. They sat down at the bar, ordering two Guinnesses. Darren shifted his stool so close he was practically climbing onto Chris's lap.

Chris raised an eyebrow.

"You know I was just teasing with the wingman thing, right? I'm not actually going to pick up boys in a pub. I'm here with you tonight. Also, I'm not really keen on getting into another awkward relationship so soon after," he made a dismissive gesture with his hand, "_you know_..."

Darren pulled a face, taking a large gulp from his pint.

"You-Know-Who?" he offered. "Well, I'm glad you're here with me tonight. I've been here before with Joey and Brolden, on St. Patrick's, but we got too drunk too fast to actually enjoy the atmosphere."

Chris laughed. "That doesn't surprise me. We're gonna have to drink slower, then. Also, don't ever refer to my ex-boyfriends as You-Know-Who again, unless they're actually Voldemort. God knows this one came close," he muttered, making Darren snort.

"Was it his nose?" he asked with a straight face.  
"No, he just really sucked at being a decent human being," Chris smiled coyly, twirling his pint between his hands. He crossed his legs, taking another gulp and smiled when Darren patted him on the back.

"I'm sorry, Chris. Everybody goes through the bad boyfriend slash girlfriend stage, some people even multiple times. If you want to stay in fandom, I'm pretty sure I dated a girl once who was a Sybil Trelawney. Which may sound cool, except it, you know, _wasn't_." He leaned closer so his lips were mere inches from Chris's face, his breath ticking his cheek. "She was really into crystal balls."

Chris started giggling and couldn't really stop himself, because _what?_The beer felt warm in his stomach and he was already comfortably buzzed, his skin beginning to tingle.

Darren chuckled, drawing his legs up and tucking them under his chin (and really, whoever sits like that on a bar stool?).

"Don't laugh, Christopher. That wasn't even a pun. She really _was_genuinely into crystal balls."

"Well, it's a good thing I'm with Harry Potter tonight, then."

"Harry wasn't a saint either, you know," winked Darren. "But yeah, it's a good thing. Good thing, indeed," he added, his smile widening and eyes squinting as he watched Chris.

* * *

They were on their fifth Guinness when Chris noticed the bar had started getting somewhat fuzzy around the edges. Well, not just the edges. His whole fucking vision was blurred.

"I think we got too drunk too fast to enjoy the atmosphere, D," he slurred into Darren's hair. Darren was now sitting in his lap, idly playing with the threads on Chris's shirt, nodding into his neck. OK, it looked like Chris's vision wasn't the only thing getting blurred tonight, because where was the line between friendship and some… other kind of _ship_if your friend was a notorious cuddle-whore? Were you supposed to stop your friend from nestling in your lap and nuzzling his face under your chin and draping his arms around your stomach if it made you feel like several spoonfuls of really shaky jelly inside (the good, sugary kind)?

"You're right," Darren breathed into his neck. "We should have drunk Diet Coke. And enjoyed our anniversary sober and presentable."

Chris managed to quirk one eyebrow.

"You don't drink Diet Coke. And you're never presentable. Except for your Teen Vogue photo-shoot. 'T was really nice."

Darren snorted.

"Really? You liked that? I thought everybody and their dog were partial to my People Magazine pictures. You know, the beach-y ones."

"_Those_ were _not_presentable, though," Chris pointed out, reaching out to take a sip of his Guinness. His stomach turned a little, but he swallowed it anyway, wiping his mouth on a sleeve of Darren's fugly cardigan. Christ, he was going to damn himself to hell as far as tomorrow morning was concerned, wasn't he?

"They were hot. Admit it." Darren tugged at the hair on the back of Chris's neck, making him hiss and widen his eyes in surprise.

"Ouch, you swine! No, they weren't. You looked like the sand-fairy from Five Children and It."

"'S rude," replied Darren, finally sliding off his lap. "I think we should go. See the guys with the fiddles? They're about to start Irish tap-dancing and I know myself, I'd want to join them, and I'm really not in a state for _skipping_right now."

Chris whirled around, focusing his eyes on the tiny stage in the corner of the pub. The dancers were getting ready for their show, stretching their legs and rehearsing some of the steps which included some really high kicks and jumps. His stomach swooped and he felt the taste of Guinness in his throat for a second.

"Yeah, no. Let's leave," he quickly agreed. "Speaking of fiddles. Finally there's something related to the name of this place! I was waiting to see a cat but alas, there's none."

Darren chuckled, holding onto the bar table since his legs were buckling under him a little.

"Brian not enough for you anymore? And the name actually comes from a nursery rhyme, you know, 'Hey diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, the cow jumped over the moon, the little dog laughed to see such craft, and the dish ran away with the spoon.'"

Chris blinked.

"That's an extremely interesting premise. Especially the cow. I mean, like," he paused as they left the pub, Darren holding the door open for him, "how did it… how did it jump over the moon?" He giggled. "We're really, _really _drunk, Darren."

Darren nodded his head, stumbling a little as they turned around the corner.

"Good thing my apartment is like super-close. We can walk there and sober up a little."

It was never completely dark in L.A. at night, so they couldn't see the stars, but the moon was huge and round above the rooftops. Chris stopped in his tracks to stare at it, smiling.

"Can you imagine an actual cow jumping over the moon?" he asked, already spluttering at how silly he sounded.

Darren leaned against a lamp pole looking up at the sky as well.

"You know, CC, there are more things in Heaven and Earth… As for the rhyme, though, my favourite part is the dish running away with the spoon. I mean, talk about forbidden love. It's practically Shakespeare."

They started walking again, deep in thoughts.

"Well, I guess there must have been certain restrictions, you know," Chris thought out loud, shutting his eyes for a moment in bliss as a cool breeze blew across his face. "The dish's parents might have been from some sort of old china pattern family and didn't want their only child to marry a spoon, because it wasn't natural. But they couldn't do anything about it, because the dish liked spoons and couldn't help it. It was born that way."

"It's so unfair, though. It shouldn't have mattered if the dish liked other dishes or if it preferred spoons, or I don't know, cuckoo clocks," Darren grimaced.

Chris looked up in surprise. Darren's expression was one of a genuine anger, his eyebrows drawn close together, his eyes twinkling in the street-lamp light (although that could have just been the five Guinnesses).

"Ok, something tells me we're not discussing cutlery anymore."

Darren shook his head and threaded his fingers through his hair, which Chris knew was something he did when he was nervous.

"I just don't like it when people expect stuff from other people," he shrugged. "People are not predictable. Their hearts are not expectable. The dish can fall in love with the spoon and it doesn't even have to be _preferring _spoons…" he trailed off, scrambling his hands over his face, smudging the green clover painted on his cheek, his evening 5 o'clock shadow prickling under his palms.

Chris didn't know what to say. How did they get from silly drunks to angry drunks so fast? And what was the next stage? He simply sighed in the end.

"I didn't know you were so passionate about kitchen supplies."

* * *

Somehow, they managed to get into Darren's building before midnight, both already mostly sober (thanks to Chris's brilliant idea to buy water on the way), Darren's mood back to silly giggling and Chris blissfully buzzed and sleepy in his arms.

The apartment was a mess and they had to stumble their way across the tiny living room in complete darkness, because Joey was sleeping on the couch (although Chris was quite positive the boy was too fast asleep to be woken up by a little light, judging by his window-rattling snores).

"So, this is Joey's room, which is where we're crashing for tonight," Darren said when they shut the door behind themselves.

"Are you trying to tell me we're going to sleep in a single bed together, Darren? Because I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that."

Actually, come to think of it, he _was_comfortable with that. And very comfortable, at that. And that wasn't good. Especially not tonight, after all the cuddling. He would not be able to survive the night tangled up in Darren. He'd die of sexual tension before the night was over.

It was Daren's turn to roll his eyes.

"Of course you can. Come on, John Lennon and Paul McCartney did it all the time!"

Chris snorted.

"That was the 60s. And they were British."

"We're having an Irish Night tonight, so that's really close. Also, you're the one who's always bragging about being related to the Royal Family. And I can put some old vinyl on, if you want," Darren waggled his eyebrows, throwing away his cardigan (praise the lord) and reaching down to start unbuttoning his shirt (and really, Chris was two bottles of water too sober for this). He drew a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest.

"You know I love you, Darren, but why can't we sleep in _your _room? I thought you had one of those humongous queen-sized beds?"

Darren chuckled, unbuckling his suspenders in the process. It was a weird situation, him stripping _literally_ in front of Chris without the tiniest sign of shame. But then, this was Darren Criss. He _had_no shame.

"You know how I told you about me and Joey lightsabering with the baguettes earlier?"

"Why? Did you break the bed?" Chris's eyebrows shot upwards.

"No, but there may have been an accident, and a jar of jam was involved. It was totally Joey's fault, though, so I told him he'd be sleeping on the couch tonight."

Chris breathed out through his nose.

"Fuck you. I'm still not sleeping in this tiny bed for gnomes with you. It's ridiculous. You can barely fit there and you _are_a gnome."

"Well, if you'd rather sleep on jam. Or on Joey…" Darren shrugged, climbing on the bed wearing only his boxers and, oh my god, he wasn't about to make it easier for Chris, was he. He lay sprawled in there, smirking at the ceiling, and he looked drunk and cuddly, all tousled hair and shiny lips and nipples... His eyes locked with Chris's for a moment. "It's our anniversary, Christopher. You're obligated to bed me."

"Oh my god, shut up, who even speaks like that?!" Chris let out another suffering sigh and hit the light switch. "Move over," he added, grumbling, and slipped next to Darren's half-naked body under the covers (and he was trying _not_ to think about the fact that it was naked, thank you very much).

* * *

"Chris?"

Chris opened his eyes, trying to get used to the darkness. He was literally squished between the wall and Darren, his chest crushed so hard he could barely breathe. He had been trying to fall asleep for the last half an hour, only to fail, of course, because every time he tried to find comfortable position on the bed, he got a noseful or mouthful of Darren's afro.

"Mm?" He felt the mattress shift as Darren rolled to his side, facing him, his features barely visible, although Chris was painfully aware of how close his mouth was. And why was he thinking about Darren's mouth again?

"I think you should kiss me."

And OK, did Darren actually say that out loud or did Chris dream that? Because he was thinking about Darren's mouth just then and…

"Excuse me?" he choked out, blinking into the darkness. His heart picked up a speed and he was sure Darren could feel it because their chests were _pressed_together.

"I've thought about it and I think you should kiss me," repeated Darren.

Chris's breath stuttered and he raised his head, prompting it on his hand, frowning in disbelief.

"You've thought about… are you still drunk?"

"No, but it makes sense, you see. It's The Dublin Kiss anniversary. We had an Irish Night and it was perfect and you were perfect and I just…" Darren paused to breathe noisily through his nose. "I just really need you to kiss me, okay? Can you?"

And wow, there was an actual desperation in his voice and when did that happen, again? Chris shook his head to himself.

"You want me to kiss you," he stated, still confused. "You want… to be kissing. The two of us. Right now, in this particular moment."

"Well, we could play twenty questions instead, but yes, I'd very much like it if you kissed me. Right now, in this particular moment. On my mouth. A lot. And other places, too, if you wanted to."

"Why?"

Darren let out frustrated noise.

"Are you kidding me? I've been trying to get in your pants the whole day. This whole Irish Night thing was an excuse… well, not really an excuse, because I really like Guinness, but… how could you have not noticed it? I mean, the whole baguette thing and the Random Facts thing. I almost kissed you this afternoon and I practically molested your neck in the pub…" Darren trailed off.

"Because it's crazy! You're not into me, Darren!" Chris exclaimed, his head hitting the pillow. He shut his eyes for a moment. His stomach flipped. His head shot up again. "Wait. Are you?"

Darren's hand grasped his in the darkness.

"Of course I am, are you kidding! Remember how I almost ate your face in front of hundreds of people exactly one year ago? So _that's_how long I've been into you. I couldn't help myself then and I can't help myself now. Everybody knows about it, because I can't keep my heart-eyes contained… well, everybody except for you, apparently. I just – you're so perfect. You're – you're so perfect for me and I totally understand it if you don't feel the same way, but-"

That was when Chris finally cracked and attacked Darren's mouth, hoping he aimed well, because he really couldn't see anything. He knew he scored when Darren moaned underneath him and wrapped him tight in his arms, his nails practically digging in Chris's back.

"Oh my god. You're an idiot!" Chris exclaimed when he managed to tear away, marvelling at the wet pop sound their mouths made. He quickly dove back, burying one hand in Darren's hair as Darren flipped them and shoved his hand under Chris's shirt. His mouth was cool and wet and still tasted like Guinness and then there was his incredibly talented _tongue_dipping in Chris's mouth, making Chris groan when it touched his tongue and rubbed against it a little. He slid his other hand down to squeeze Darren's ass, drawing an appreciative sound out of the both of them.

Eventually, they had to part again to breathe, and they did, panting in each other's face, Darren not being able to help himself and pressing little kisses all over Chris's neck.

"Your fucking neck. It's been driving me crazy," he growled.

Chris had to mentally count to ten to calm himself down enough to sound coherent. His voice still came out high and breathy.

"How… why didn't you just tell me? I thought you were straight! I…"

Darren licked a trail down the column of his neck, mumbling into his collar bone.

"I am not the dish, ok?"

"Huh?"

"I am not the dish. And you are not the spoon. It doesn't matter."

"Oh my god. Stop with the kitchen analogy, you're making me drunker than I already am." He felt a puff of hot breath on his ear.

"I want to suck you off."

Chris's heart stopped for a moment as a wave of arousal shot through his body.

"Ok, from spoons to blowjobs, I can… deal with that," he said slowly, moaning brokenly as Darren nibbled on the curve of his shoulder.

"Good." Darren threw the covers away, hovering above Chris on his hands and knees. "The clothes need to go. God, I hate that shirt."

Chris let out a breathy laugh.

"You were the one who forced me into that shirt."

"Well, Imma force you out of it, now," Darren murmured, pulling it over Chris's head and immediately attaching his mouth to the exposed flesh, trailing kisses down Chris's chest. "You taste so good."

Chris only moaned in response, his hips stuttering as his pants became really uncomfortable. He was painfully hard in the tightest pair of jeans he owned and he was ninety per cent sure he was about to lose his dick if Darren didn't do something soon.

"I think my jeans are cutting off my blood-flow," he panted, biting his lower lip. "I advise you to take them off because… because if you don't then – then you won't, nghh, you won't have anything to, to… ahh, suck on," He sighed in relief when Darren popped the button and forced the jeans down his legs along with his boxers.

"Oh, dear _god_, thank you."

He heard Darren chuckle in the dark and then his brain almost imploded, because Darren's wet cool mouth was on him and it was like heaven and hell rolled into one. Chris was painfully aware of the fast that he wasn't going to last long. He reached down to tug at  
Darren's hair, biting his lips so he wouldn't shout out loud when Darren hummed around him in appreciation.

His heart almost burst out of his chest when he felt a finger slowly circling his ass and it was enough to make him topple over the edge, arching on the bed and curling his toes as he came, hard, in Darren's mouth .

Chris idly stroked Darren's sweaty back as Darren crawled back next to him, plopping down and panting. It took Chris few more seconds to come down from his high and realise that Darren himself hadn't come yet and was probably going crazy by now.

"On your back," he breathed, kissing Darren on the lips. "Wanna make you come."

"Mmhm, fuck, yes, please," moaned Darren, his arms hooking around Chris's neck as Chris brought his hips down to rub against Darren, hissing at how sensitive his dick still was. He reached down, sliding his shaking hand across Darren's sweaty skin to grasp him firmly in his fingers, marvelling at his weight and shape.

"Your dick is amazing," he managed to mumble in Darren's hair, turning his head to kiss him on his panting mouth, his hand squeezing and pulling in the process.

"So's yours," rasped Darren in response, lifting his ass to meet Chris's hand, seeking more friction. "It sure does taste amazing."

"If you can still talk, I'm not doing this right."

Chris was pretty sure he only had, like, one brain-cell functioning at the moment, and his breath hitched, as warmth started pooling in his stomach yet again.

He managed to dissolve Darren into series of broken swear words, when the latter finally came all over Chris's hand, sucking on Chris's neck to keep himself from crying out.

* * *

Later they lay tangled up in each other, sticky and spent, trading lazy kisses, Darren stroking patterns across Chris's back with his fingers.

"Why don't you go back to sleep, CC."

Chris smiled against Darren's skin, darting out his tongue to taste the salty sweat.

"Oh I will, don't worry. I'm not like you, I love sleeping. Especially after I come so hard my ears start ringing."

Darren sighed in content.

"We're very good together, aren't we."

"Yep. Except for the part where you don't let me sleep. May I remind you that you interrupted my nap this afternoon, yet again?"

"Really? I'm sorry, then."

"I was dreaming about you, you know. Kissing you. In Dublin."

He felt Darren smile against his chest.

"Really?"

"Yeah, we were just about to get to the third base, right on that stage, when you woke me up by banging on my door."

"That sounds hot. I'm sorry about waking you up. We can nap together tomorrow. I'm sure napping with you will feel wonderful."

Chris's heart flattered. "I'm still mad at you, though. Never do it again or you will taste my fury. Seriously, you've seen The Mummy. Don't read from the Book of the Dead."

Chris chuckled, his voice heavy with sleep.

"Mmm, I love that movie. I don't think Imhotep was as hot as you are, though. He didn't have your impeccable hair."

Chris's smile widened. "Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Good." Darren's arms tightened around his stomach as he spooned him from behind. "Just don't run away on me in the morning, okay?"

"I won't," Chris rolled his eyes. He was sure it would be physically impossible to tear himself away after tonight, or, like, at all. "Oh, and by the way," he added. "Happy anniversary, DC."

* * *

They watched The Mummy in the morning, feeding each other bits of baguette, green paint still smudged all over their faces.


End file.
